


A Wolf in My Bed, A Man in My Heart

by sterekanigans



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, King!Stiles, Knight!Derek, M/M, Royalty AU, Sourwolf, Wolf! Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 22:45:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9038069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sterekanigans/pseuds/sterekanigans
Summary: It's not everyday that you adopt a pet wolf, but for Stiles, newly crowned King, perhaps it is exactly what he needs. Amidst the long days of tactical planning and fighting and treaty signing and warfare, having a companion to rant to and cuddle with is a godsend. Throw into the mix Stiles' favourite knight who has recently gone missing, and you've got a recipe for angst with a dash of comfort! It's not everyday that you adopt a pet wolf, and perhaps Stiles should have suspected something sooner.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teamsciles/hobrien](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=teamsciles%2Fhobrien).



> For the Sterek Secret Santa gift exchange 2016! For the dearest TeamSciles/Hobrien on tumblr- hopefully I hit some of your requests and got them right, but I have to admit, all of my 'knowledge' about castles and medieval times, which I used in this fic, comes from Merlin ahah- so excuse the (likely) inaccuracies!  
> Merry Christmas!

White. Blotches of crimson. Flashes of silver.

Derek opens his eyes, blinking rapidly to clear his vision.

Clang.

Clash.

He whimpers and ducks his head, trying to block out the harsh noises.

Whoosh.

An arrow slices through the air next to Derek’s fur and he scuttles onto four feet. He scampers away, seeking shelter amongst the thick trees at the edge of the clearing, his bushy tail swishing behind him.

Slithering behind two trunks, Derek peers out to survey the scene. A coppery smell fills the air and Derek suddenly realises that the patches of red painting the pale white snow is blood.

Knights clad in silver lay scattered around the clearing, their armour catching and reflecting the light, a last beacon for help.  

Most though, are still standing, swords whirling through the air as they defend and attack. Their opponents are dressed in mismatched leather armour plates, their swords dull in comparison.  They’re good fighters, more organised and tactical than they appear, but the ragtag group is still too small to be a match for the force of the King’s Knights.

Something catches Derek’s eye- It’s one of the enemies, his eyes fierce and hungry as he ruthlessly slays knights.

Wait. A curl of long brown hair peeks out from beneath the bandana wrapped around his face.

That’s not a man. That’s a woman. Derek sees the pendant hanging around their neck. That’s-

“Argents!” one of the knights roars.

The woman- Kate- grins ferociously as she turns towards the knight. “Took you long enough.”

Derek is rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but watch Kate take down more knights than any other man. Hears her cackling laugh, sees her gleaming teeth as she snarls.

_Darkness. Thick smoke. Flashes of colour as Derek runs towards his house. Screams, cries for help echoing through the forest air. Her cackling laugh._

Glimpses of a past memory, of a darker time, flash through Derek’s mind, clouding his present vision.

_Gleaming teeth, head thrown back gleefully. Long, fearful howls, the sound fighting to escape, to emerge from the smoky air._

He whines pitifully, scratching helplessly at the ground as he watches her wound yet another of his fellow knights.

_Crazed yet calculated eyes, observing happily her work, and searching for him, a last torment, a last hurrah._

Derek cowers back, bowing his head towards the ground, her cries ringing and reverberating through his mind, filling the air until all he can hear is her. He skitters backwards more, eyes darting around in fright.

A final laugh drives him to turn around, running off towards the grand castle sitting regally at the top of the hill in the distance, where the four walls and the kind souls inside will keep the evil at bay.

~~~

Stiles meanders through the castle, heavy robes trailing behind him. All around people are bowing and dropping into curtsies. He nods at them, waving at them to stand and continue.

 _Never stroll, always stride purposefully. You are their King, the voice of authority. They look to_ you _for support._ The words of his advisor run through Stiles’ mind as he turns the corner.

A maid bumps into him, before hurriedly curtsying, a flustered apology tumbling from her mouth.

Stiles reaches a hand out to steady her, gives her a reassuring smile. “No matter,” he says warmly, helping her to her feet. A shy expression flits across her face as she looks at him in awe. “On your way now.” He gives her a gentle nudge.

Stepping out, he takes in a deep breath, revelling in the smell of fresh air. He’d been cooped up inside, constantly meeting with his advisors. There’d been reports of a band of Argents spotted in the surrounding forests, which could only mean bad news. A group of knights had been sent out to investigate, but had yet to be heard from.

The green grass is a pleasant sight compared to the stone walls which seem to constantly entrap him.

There’s a slight commotion at the far corner and Stiles makes his way over. Two knights are wrestling a majestic black wolf, trying to hold him still.

The wolf growls and scratches at the ground, throwing himself around in an attempt to fling the knights off. His teeth are bared in a snarl, but his eyes are fearful, scared.

One of the knights successfully pins the wolf to the ground, leaving the other to draw his sword.

“Stop!” Stiles commands. “What’s going on here?”

The knights share a look. “We found him slinking around the courtyard, your Majesty.  We think he must have slipped in during the guard change.”

“A wolf slipped into the grounds?” Stiles repeats incredulously. “You’re going to need to step up your security. Do I need remind you of the imminent threat headed our way, in the form of the Argents? If a _wolf_ can get in, how easy do you think it will be for the _Argents?_ ”

“We’ll re-evaluate, your Majesty.”

A whine from the wolf draws their attention back. He’s pawing desperately at the ground, the knight still holding him down.

“Fear not, sire. We will take care of this.” The knight raises his sword, glinting in the light.

A loud frantic whine cuts the air. The wolf tries to move away, only whining louder when it finds it can’t.

Crystal blue eyes dart around, before locking onto Stiles.  They look out at him, calling, pleading.

“Stop!”

Stiles crouches down, eyes still locked with the wolf. He reaches out a hand as the guards look at each other questioningly.

“Let him go.”

The guard stands up hesitantly.

“Hey there,” says Stiles softly to the wolf. He lets his hovering hand fall gently against the wolf. His fingers curl into the jet black fur, but he frowns when his fingers dip into something wet.

The wolf flinches, but remains silent.

He lifts his hands, frowning as he sees the crimson coating his fingertips.  “Come on, let’s go get you cleaned up.”

He rises, an encouraging hand on the wolf’s neck as it slowly stands.

“I’ll handle this,” Stiles tells the knights.

The wolf inches out under from Stiles’ outstretched hand. “I’m not going to hurt you, okay?” When the wolf remains out of reach, Stiles gives a small shrug. “This way.”

~~~

Stiles holds the door open, letting the wolf prod forward into his chamber. The wolf pauses at the entrance, then silently begins to explore the room, padding softly around the edges.

Arched windows let in streams of light, illuminating the socks and pants lying on the floor. His chamber is a bit of a mess, for a King. Scrolls are scattered around, some on wooden tables, others nestled amongst the piles of clothes. Whilst most people would dream of having a private servant, Stiles himself has never been a huge fan of others going through his stuff. Ever since his seventh birthday, he hasn’t had a manservant- a quality which makes him endearing to the public, but commoner-like the other nobles.

The room is large enough for Stiles to pace around, but small enough to feel homey. It’s his quiet space, the place where he can go to escape from all his duties, from all the expectations constantly surrounding him day in and day out.

In the centre of the room is a large four posted bed, adorned with red and gold drapes. The wolf goes to jump onto the plush bed.

“Whoa whoa whoa, wait up buddy! You’re not getting on there until you’ve had a bath, because you my friend, are a mess.”

The wolf stills and tilts his head toward Stiles, seemingly considering his words. Then, he huffs and turns towards the adjoining bathroom.

Huh, who knew wolves were such intelligent creatures, thinks Stiles. He follows the wolf, who is now sitting in front of the bathtub.

“In you get.” Stiles gives the wolf a small nudge.

He turns on the water and gently begins to scrub his fingers through the wolf’s matted fur. He watches as the water turns red as it drains away, as the fur begins to soften in his fingers.

“You know, I think you need a name,” Stiles says conversationally. “I can’t just keep calling you ‘The Wolf’ in my head.”

The wolf turns and fixes Stiles with an unimpressed glare.

“Huh. Just for that, I’m going to name you,” he pauses for a moment, thinking of a name to capture the wolf’s haughty attitude. “Sourwolf.”

If possible, the wolf seems to narrow his eyes more. Stiles grins. “Yes, Sourwolf it is.”

Sourwolf’s snooty attitude is ruined though when Stiles massages his neck and Sourwolf leans automatically into Stiles’ touch, letting out a small whimper.

“I’ve got you buddy.”

Stiles continues to wash Sourwolf, sitting there until the water is clear once more. Turning off the tap, he motions for Sourwolf to hop out.

He steps out and promptly shakes himself off, flinging water everywhere.

Stiles wrinkles his nose. “Sourwolf!” He looks down at his robes, now spattered with water. Ugh, these were one of the few robes he actually liked. He sighs and strips off his outer robes, leaving him in his undershirt and pants.

Sourwolf has already made his way over the fireplace, watching the fire with a forlorn expression. Stiles pulls a chair over and drapes his robes over them to dry.

Sourwolf turns his head and settles on the hearth, carefully facing away from the fire. He drops his head onto his paws, eyes cast down.

The fire cackles in the background as Stiles plops down besides Sourwolf, resting a hand in his fur.

He sits, feeling relaxed for the first time in a long time, listening to the even breaths of Sourwolf.

~~~

Stiles groans as he drifts back into consciousness. The banging on his door is seemingly amplified by the stone walls.

“Your Majesty,” a voice calls from the hallway.

Stiles groans again as he lifts his head, his hand brushing away the hair covering his eyes.

“Yes?” he calls back.

“A reminder that you have your meeting with Sir Scott and the other advisors in twenty minutes.”

“I’ll be there.”

He lets his head flop back against the pillow. Waking up was certainly his least favourite part of the day. Wait, maybe that was his daily meetings with the knights. Or it could be the signing of those endless forms. Really, Stiles disliked most of his day. The only part he liked was walking round and seeing his people, smiling and happy, oblivious to the danger which lay outside the walls.

Turning his head, he sees that Sourwolf had jumped up on the bed during the night and was now resting beside him, head tucked against Stiles’ chest. Stiles curls his hand in his fur, lightly scratching.

“Morning Sourwolf.”

Sourwolf blinks sleepily a few times, raising his head to see what was going on. Satisfied that there was no danger, he shuffles slightly, drawing the comforter into a den shape around him.

Stiles almost snorts at the absurdity of it all. He can only imagine the reaction his guards would have if they found a hundred pound wolf half lying on their King.

They lay there in silence for a few moments, their even breaths the only sounds filling the air.

“The knights still aren’t back,” says Stiles tiredly to himself. He knows Sourwolf can’t understand him, but it’s still nice to talk aloud. His life as King can be incredibly isolating sometimes, and even having someone who he can pretend is listening is better than nothing.

Sourwolf shifts his head slightly, oblivious to Stiles’ words.

“They were supposed to be on a recon mission, just to scout out the woods nearby and see if those pesky rumours about the Argents were true. They were meant to return days ago.”

“I hope they’re okay. We’re probably going to have to send someone else out now to try and find them.” He frowns. “I hope Hot-and-Handsome is okay.”

Sourwolf lifts his head slightly at Stiles’ words, staring at him.

Stiles smiles to himself as he looks across the pillow at Sourwolf.

“What’s that? You want to know who Hot-and-Handsome is, huh buddy? Well, he’s only the most handsome knight to grace these castle walls. And with the most amazing ass too.” Stiles smiles dreamily.

Sourwolf seems to snort, huffing loudly.

“Fine, yes, the only reason I check up on the knights whilst they’re training is to admire Hot-and-Handsome from afar. The armour does wondrous things to that body- highlights all the right places, if you know what I mean.” He grins at Sourwolf.

 “But he’s also so kind and caring. I see him sometimes, in the streets, helping the old ladies, or giving his earnings to the beggars.” Stiles smiles again, then turns serious. “He makes me want to be a better King, he reminds me to always give back to my people, to look after them and protect them. You know?”

He looks at Sourwolf, who has rolled over and is pawing at his makeshift den.

“Of course you don’t. You’re just a wolf.

“He’s so courageous, so fiercely protective and loyal.” Sourwolf stills in his movements at the word, but Stiles doesn’t notice. “He’s got a younger sister, and he’s always looking after her. I hear he’s always scaring the other knights away from her- worried about protecting her virtue or something. So sweet.” He sighs again.

“And his eyes? Have I told you about his eyes yet? They’re a sunshine yellow with flecks of green twinkling throughout and they’re just absolutely magical.” He sighs again.

Sourwolf has seemingly had enough as he huffs again- the only warning Stiles gets before he feels all one hundred pounds of the wolf leap onto his stomach.

“Mmph,” he grunts, the wind knocked out of him. “Kinda squishing me here dude.” He pushes at  Sourwolf until he’s resting mostly on the bed, but still pressed up against Stiles’ side.

“No more Hot-and-Handsome talk then, hm? It’s not like I have a chance with him anyways. I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m an incompetent idiot who has no clue what he’s doing. Which, to be fair, is accurate on the ‘I have no clue what I’m doing,’ bit.

“When I met all the knights after my inauguration, they all bowed and introduced themselves. Except when he did it, he was looking over my shoulder, instead of at me, like the rest. Like he didn’t think I was worthy of his attention, like I didn’t yet deserve his respect--What?”

Sourwolf is repeatedly nudging him, pressing his snout into Stiles’ side. He frowns and opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted by the banging on the door.

“Your meeting, sire!”

Stiles groans. “Coming!” He yells back.

Rolling out of bed, he searches the floor for clothes. He finds a fairly uncrumpled shirt and a pair of pants that doesn’t smell too bad and pulls them on hastily.

He looks back at Sourwolf still on the bed, watching him.

“I’ll be back for you after this, kay? Just stay here for now and try not to destroy anything.”

Sourwolf merely blinks.

~~~

Stiles nods at the guards as they pull open the heavy oak door to the meeting chamber. There is a scraping of chairs as everyone rises as he walks in, robes trailing slightly behind.

Upon reaching the front of the room, he motions for everyone to sit. His eyes flick around the long oval table, parchments and maps scattered about. His head knights and advisors are in attendance, their constantly solemn faces turned towards him.. By his right is Scott, his best friend and step brother, ever since his late father married his mother, Lady Melissa. As Prince, Scott is the leader of the knights, the role which would have belonged to Stiles had his father not died suddenly of a heart attack.

He takes a deep, calming breath as he takes his seat.

His advisor, Deaton, speaks up.

“Sire, we still have no word of the scouting party which left last week. We think it is perhaps time to send a knight after them.”

“But if they have not yet returned or sent word, would it not be likely that they have been attacked? They were searching for the Argents, but what if the Argents found them first? Would it not be wiser to send out a larger group of reinforcements?” Stiles speaks with a calm and steady voice.

Underneath the table, his leg bounces restlessly, nervously.

“But if the Argents are indeed responsible, that would mean that they are close. And we must protect the castle at all costs, which requires a large platoon of knights to be stationed here day and night.” Scott looks at Stiles. “We cannot send out our troops unless we know for sure that there is a credible threat outside of the walls.”

“But is it not better to apprehend the threat before it reaches castle walls?” calls Sir Jackson, two seats down from Scott. “We do not know the size of the Argents, the extent of their weapons. We cannot wait until they reach the castle before defending ourselves. If their forces are greater than ours, they will be upon the castle and we will be unable to stop them.”

“That was meant to be the job of the scouting party,” replies Scott.

Stiles looks around at all of them. His leg continues to bounce, and he restrains the urge to tap the table, instead clenching his hand into a fist. His eyes flick to Scott helplessly, a lost expression crossing his face momentarily.

Scott returns a reassuring smile.

“Then the original offer stands.” Deaton looks at Stiles. “We send out a knight or two to find the scouting party and gather more intel on the Argents, if they are indeed present.”

“What if-“ Scott interjects. The argument continues, seemingly going in circles as Stiles watches on. He mindlessly gnaws on the inside of his cheek- he too is anxious about the scouting party, but has no clue the right course of action. And ultimately, the final decision lays with him.

Jackson is interrupted by a commotion at the door. Muffled grunts emanate through the thick door and Scott strides over.

Stiles rises just as the door opens, and he sees Sourwolf slip in.

Clangs and chinks sound out as the knights clamber to stand and draw their weapons.

“Wait!” Stiles yells, a sigh of relief settling as he makes his way towards Sourwolf. “He’s mine.”

There is a low murmur throughout the room.

Sourwolf stops in front of Sourwolf and bends down, carding a hard through his fur.

“The wolf… is yours?” repeats Jackson incredulously.

“Yes,” Stiles snaps back a little harshly. Jackson has always rubbed at him the wrong way. When his father was King, he sucked up to him all the time. But now that it’s Stiles? Stiles, who Jackson used to make fun of when they were younger and the adults weren’t looking, Jackson seizes every opportunity to question and undermine his authority that he can get his dirty little hands on.

“He’s probably just hungry.” Stiles stands up, hand still resting on Sourwolf. “We’ll continue this meeting later.” He spins around and leads Sourwolf out, ignoring the murmurs which were once again rising.

He leads them down to the kitchens, requesting some raw steaks, and reassuring the cooks that Sourwolf was safe when they sent worried looks their way.

At least he hopes Sourwolf is safe and won’t attack. So far he’s seemed very docile and uninterested in people other than Stiles.

A young maid pulls out a chair for Stiles, which he graciously declines. Another young cook hesitantly places a plate of dripping steaks in front of Sourwolf, who perks his head up and immediately starts tearing into them.

The cook’s eyes widen and he scrambles backwards. Stiles tries to smile reassuringly, but he doesn’t think it really helps.

Stiles grabs some bread for himself, chewing quietly as he watches Sourwolf devour his steak.

“Sorry buddy, probably should have fed you yesterday.”

Once Sourwolf is done and Stiles has apologised to the cooks for the mess on the floor, they head off towards the courtyard. Stiles assumes Sourwolf needs to run around and stretch for a bit- as happy as he’d seemed in his bed-den, he was pretty sure that wolves were usually quite active creatures.

“I told you to stay in the room,” he chastises lightly as they walk. Sourwolf merely huffs haughtily and keeps walking. “But that being said, thank god you came. That meeting was going nowhere. Everyone was talking but no-one was agreeing and they all expect me to somehow make a decision from all of that! I was going to lose it soon if you hadn’t showed up!”

Sourwolf huffs again, as though that was his intention. He spies a bird in the trees lining the courtyard and trots off towards it happily.

A moment later Sourwolf is back, and Stiles blinks at the sight before him.

Said bird is now lying limp and dead on the ground in front of his feet, having fallen from Sourwolf’s still open mouth. He’s panting slightly, but looking inordinately pleased with himself, sitting patiently on his haunches in front of Stiles.

“Ugh,” he groans.

Sourwolf waits expectantly, blinking up at him.

“Ugh. Um, okay.” He gingerly pinks up the bird using the tips of his fingers, and holds it as far away as possible. He goes to put it back down amongst the trees at the edge of the courtyard but Sourwolf knocks into his side with a huff.

He glares up at Stiles.

“O-kay.” Trying to not crinkle his face, he turns around, still holding the bird. Ignoring the horrified and worried looks of his people as he passes, he makes his way back to his chamber. Looking around, he spies an empty spot on the table near the window, and places the dead bird down with a grimace. Its glassy eyes stare lifelessly out the castle.

 A pleased rumble emanates from Sourwolf as he jumps back up on the bed.

Great, Stiles thinks. Not only does he have to deal with the Argents, but now his people think he’s crazy and he has to find a way to get a dead bird out of his chamber without a wolf noticing.

~~~

Stiles wakes up slowly, letting the morning light illuminate the room. He turns his head, smiling as he sees Sourwolf, eyes still closed. It had become routine over the last few days, for Sourwolf to go to sleep at night on the rug by Stiles bed, only to mysteriously end up in the bed by morning.

His eyes open suddenly, and perhaps he hadn’t really been sleeping, rather waiting for Stiles to wake up.

“Morning,” he mumbles sleepily. Then he buries himself deeper under the covers, slings an arm across Sourwolf, and closes his eyes again.

He wants to just lie there, cocooned in the warmth and nestled with Sourwolf, wants to lie there forever and just… not think. But he’s never mastered the art of meditation. No, scratch that- he’s never come anywhere close.

His mind is always running a million miles a minute, thoughts and strange ideas popping up left, right and centre, like little whack-a-moles.

Now, thoughts about the Argents are churning through his mind. The scouting party still hasn’t returned, more rumoured sightings of the Argents have risen up, and the people were beginning to get nervous.

Everybody knew about Gerard Argent, the power-hungry patriarch of the Argents, and the lengths he was willing to go to for territory. Only a few years back, he’d had his own daughter torch an entire village, Devonford, because their King wouldn’t sign a treaty entitling the Argents to fifty percent of their land. Rumour had it that the daughter, Kate, had merely stood there laughing as women, men and children alike poured out screaming.

As King of the nearest kingdom, everyone is looking towards him for the next move.

A whine from Sourwolf rouses him from his mulling.

He looks over to where Sourwolf is nosing inquisitively at a framed drawing, resting on the mahogany bedside table.

A burst of sadness blooms within him momentarily as he reaches out and carefully picks up the drawing.

Two people smile up at him from the drawing. A woman with long brown hair, flowing behind her as she laughs, mouth wide. Next to her, a man with his arm wrapped around her tightly, looking down at her fondly. His parents.

It had been a gift from Allison, Scott’s betrothed.

His mother had passed when he was 9, due to a brain disease which the medical advisors had never seen the likes of before. When he looks at her, he only feels a twinge of grief, having come to accept her loss with time.

But when he looks at his father, that pain is still a constant heavy and dull ache that he carries with him daily. Only six months ago, he had been struck by a failure of the heart, completely unexpected. He hadn’t been given much time to mourn- instead he’d had the Kingdom and all its responsibilities thrust upon him. It hadn’t mattered that his training was incomplete, that he was merely 19- the kingdom needed a King, and by birthright, that fell to him.

“My parents,” he says aloud to Sourwolf. “The King and Queen.”

He looks up at him with questioning eyes.

“They were great leaders, naturals. The people loved them, they made all the right decisions, they kept us safe, protected. And then I come along, and almost immediately the Argents appear, and now we’re all in danger, and they want me to do something, anything to protect us, but I honestly have no clue what to do.’ His words spill out in a single long breath.

Sourwolf rests his head on Stiles’ chest.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he admits quietly. “Be their King.”

He pulls Sourwolf closer. “I just don’t know how.

“And I’m scared of what will happen if I make the wrong decision, choose the wrong call. I can’t let what happened do that village happen to my kingdom. I can’t.”

Sourwolf stiffens and whines again, burying himself deeper against Stiles.

“I’m scared, Sourwolf. I’m scared.” He whispers.

Sourwolf turns his head. The next thing Stiles feels is a long wet lick up his face.

“Gross!” he cries. But he’s ignored, and he quickly feels a second lick.

He wrinkles his face slightly, but it soon turns into laughter. Sourwolf continues for a few more minutes, and then they simply lie there, curled up in each other.

“Thanks Sourwolf.”

~~~

~~~

A couple of small children cautiously approach Stiles.

“Your Majesty,” one shyly starts, looking down at her hands clasped tightly together. “May we?” She gestures at Sourwolf who is leaning against Stiles’ leg.

He smiles down gently at her.

Sourwolf however, has different ideas. He opens his mouth in a snarl, still pressing against Stiles.

The children rear back in surprise. 

“Sourwolf!” hisses Stiles, glaring down at him.

Sourwolf glares right back.

“Sit.” He commands loudly.

Sourwolf glares for a moment longer, before begrudgingly sitting, tail still alight and alert behind him.

“Now are you going to behave?”

Sourwolf continues to glare and slowly lowers himself to the ground, head on his paws.

Stiles turns back to the children with a small smile. “Sorry, he doesn’t seem to be good with strangers. He’s safe though, I promise. Would you like a pat?”

The first girl reaches out hesitantly. “Ooh, soft!” she squeals excitedly.

The others crowd forward to touch Sourwolf’s fur. They giggle and smile and coo at Sourwolf.

Stiles fondly looks down at them.

“Come along now,” one of their parents calls. “You’ve had long enough.”

“Oh it’s no worry,” Stiles goes to reassure, but they’re already grabbing their children’s hands.

“What do we say now?” one of them questions their child.

“Thank you Your Majesty.” They say it in tandem.

“You’re very welcome.”

The children disperse and Sourwolf rises again, bumping harshly into Stiles to let his displeasure known.

Stiles instead looks back at Scott, who he’s taking an afternoon walk with.

“Your wolf doesn’t seem to be big on people.” Sourwolf had tried to snap at Scott’s fingers when he’d reached out to feed him earlier. He’d pointedly looked at the juicy steak in Scott’s hand, waiting for him to drop it before eagerly snapping it up.

Stiles makes a non-committal noise, just as Sourwolf noses at Stiles’ hand. “He likes me well enough.”

“How long are you, uh, keeping him for?”

“Not sure.”

“You know you can’t keep him forever, right?”

“Says who?” replies Stiles defensively. “I’m the King after all.” He laughs bitterly.

Scott glances over sympathetically. “How have you been holding up?” he asks.  

Stiles lets out a long breath. “Not well. It’s been two weeks since we sent out the scouting party, and a week since we sent out Danny and Jackson to find them. No word from either group, when we should have heard back days ago.”

His shoulders are hunched, and a tiredness which wasn’t there 6 months ago now permanently graces his face.

“You sure you’re not just grumpy because your missing your favourite knight Derek?” Scott tries to make a joke.

Stiles looks flatly at him.

Sourwolf stumbles.

“I’m just saying you haven’t had your weekly eye-candy fix.” Scott gives him a sly grin. “I noticed you haven’t been down to see us training these past two weeks. Ever since Derek left with the scouting party.”

“He’s more than just eye-candy,” mutters Stiles petulantly, kicking at the ground in front of him.

“Yes, I know. You’ve only ranted about Hot-and-Handsome and how intelligent and loyal and courageous he is about a thousand times. But Stiles, you’ve yet to actually talk to the guy.”

“At the coronation-“

“No, that doesn’t count. Look, you either need to do something about this, or drop it completely.”

“Come on, that doesn’t count. And I really think you should talk to him.”

“You know I can’t!” Stiles spits frustratedly.  

“Why not?”

“He’d be a distraction. What would the people think if they saw me flirting it up with some guy, instead of whole-heartedly devoting myself to protecting them and our Kingdom?”

“He’s a distraction already Stiles.”

“It’d make him a target.” He changes tactic.

“He’s a knight- he can defend himself, probably better than you can yourself. You know these are just excuses.”

“Well he doesn’t like me anyways.”

“You don’t know that.”

He huffs. “It seems pretty clear to me. He always avoids me when I visit your training, never so much as glances at me.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Stiles frowns.

“I’m just trying to help, okay?” continues Scott. “Look, when he comes back, just talk to him, please?”

At that point, Sourwolf, who had been sitting frozen at their feet, jumps up and runs off. Stiles’ gaze lingers on Scott for a moment longer before he turns and calls after him.

“Sourwolf!”

~~~

“Your Majesty!” A guard calls out to Stiles as he made his way across the courtyard. He halted and turned around, facing the guard.

“Sirs Jackson and Danny have returned, and Sir Deaton requests your presence in the great hall.”

Stiles thanks the guard and spins around, hurriedly making his way over to the castle. It’s been days since Jackson and Danny had left, and this would hopefully be the first news of the scouting party which left a week ago.

“Your Majesty,” greets Deaton as Stiles pushed open the double doors. Scott is by his side, whilst Jackson and Danny stand grimly by the table.

“Your Majesty,” they murmur wearily. Well, Danny murmured and Jackson remained quiet. The fact though that he hadn’t already made a jab at Stiles meant something serious had happened.

“So what’s the news? Where’s the scouting party?” questions Stiles.

Danny and Jackson share a look.

“It is as we feared,” says Danny. “They encountered Kate Argent and a group of her fighters a week ago. A few good men were lost,” their eyes flick downwards momentarily in remembrance, “but most of our knights survived.”

“Unfoertunately Kate escaped,” continues Jackson, “but they were able to capture and interrogate Gerard’s lead knight. They’re headed out there currently with the hopes of ambushing them during the night.”

“Do they need backup?” questions Stiles.

“They have requested more knights.”

Stiles looks at Deaton for confirmation. “Then we’ll send out five more platoons immediately.”

They nod and turn to exit, readying to inform and prep the other knights of their new mission.

Scott hangs back, giving Stiles a look whilst the others leave.

“Stiles,” he says quietly, seriously.

He looks over, worried at the expression on Scott’s face. “Yeah?”

“Derek wasn’t with the scouting group.”

~~~

That night, the fire crackles quietly in the fireplace whilst the strong winds roar outside. Stiles emerges from the bath chamber, running a hand through his wet hair.

He drops down next to where Sourwolf is lazing on the hearth. Despite his initial reluctance to go anywhere near the fire, Stiles has now come to expect to see Sourwolf in front of the fire. He scratches behind Sourwolf’s ears mindlessly, the heat from the fire warming them.

They sit, staring into the dancing flames. The King and his Wolf.

Stiles stands up and nudges Sourwolf, who has his head pillowed on his paws sleepily.

“Come on. We both know where you’re going to end up by the morning, so you might as well just jump into the bed now.”

He stares up at Stiles, eyes blinking.

Then, in a single fluid movement, he rises to his feet and jumps onto the bed. By the time Stiles has reached his side of the bed, Sourwolf has nested most of the blankets. Stiles sighs and climbs in, snuggling up to Sourwolf, burying himself in the blankets.

“Night,” he whispers. Sourwolf seems to let out an extra long breath in reply.

~~~

 

Stiles blinks his eyes open slowly as the cool air brushes his body. He lifts his head to see the covers half pulled off.

Sourwolf, he thinks fondly, mentally shaking his head- but not actually shaking his head mind you- that would require too much concentration too early in the morning.

Only when he looks over at the other side of the bed, Sourwolf is gone.

Instead, there is a naked man.

Stiles blinks again, uncomprehending.

Then his brain catches up.

“Aaaaahh!” he shrieks, and grabs the covers. Only when he begins to pull them back towards him does he realise his mistake- more of the mystery man’s skin is being exposed. He shrieks again and throws the covers back over the man.

Said man wakes up with a startle, wildly looking around with teeth bared in a snarl.

Stiles gapes at him in shock.

The man glances at Stiles’ stunned expression, and then down at himself. Something flickers across his face before he pulls the blanket tighter around his waist.

“Derek Hale!” Stiles screeches from the corner of the bed where he had flung himself in an effort to get away from the naked man.

They stare at each other.

“I-“ Derek clears his throat. “I can explain?” he begins.

“Your Majesty!” Loud knocks hit the door. “Your Majesty! Are you okay?”

Stiles looks at Derek for a beat longer, then rips his gaze away. He swallows. “I’m… fine,” he calls back. “Everything’s fine.”

The guards’ footsteps peter out as they leave. Once silence has descended again, Stiles looks back at Derek, who’s looking at him pleadingly.

“So you can explain how you, a knight who is supposed to be on a scouting mission, is naked in the bed of the King?”

Derek doesn’t miss a beat. “Yes”.

 “Let’s hear it then.”

There’s silence.

“Well?” Stiles raises his eyebrows.

“I’m a werewolf!” he blurts out.

“A… werewolf?” repeats Stiles incredulously. “As in a mythical creature than turns into a wolf on the full moon?”

“Yes!”

Stiles’ eyebrows climb even higher.

“Well, sort of. The turns into a wolf bit is true, but obviously not the mythical part. Or the full moon part.”

Stiles still looked very sceptical. “You’re not selling this very well.”

“I was,” Derek grimaces, “Sourwolf.” He says the name with great distaste.

“So? Lots of people knew I acquired a wolf with the name Sourwolf. How do I know you didn’t sneak in during the night and drag him out?”

“You told me that… that you were scared about being King,” he says gruffly. “That your parents were natural leaders but you don’t think you are.”

Stiles flinches at his words.

“So?” he says quietly. “That’s not exactly a secret.”

“I didn’t avoid looking at you out of lack of respect.”

Stiles frowns, trying to figure out this seemingly random line of conversation.

“You…” he gulps. “You make me nervous.” Derek looks resolutely away from Stiles.

Stiles scoffs. “Why would I make you nervous? Because I’m the King?”

‘No, because you’re…’ he trails off, but looks back at Stiles. His eyes run up and down Stiles’ body, almost involuntarily.

Oh. And suddenly Stiles gets it.

“Wait, so this whole time that you’ve been… been Sourwolf, you’ve understood everything that I told you?”

Derek’s guilty downcast eyes tells him enough.

“And you just sat there and continued to listen to me pour my heart out?” Stiles’ voice rises with each word. “Knowing that those were supposed to be private confessions?”

“Stiles-“

“You didn’t think to leave? To stop me? To somehow let me know that you were in fact listening and _was not in fact an actual fucking wolf?”_

“How? How would you have believed me? And like I’d ever be able to stop you from doing something.”

“Well why turn back now? Why not, oh I don’t know, _a week ago?”_ By now Stiles’ is shouting, voice loud in the morning silence. He’s leaning subconsciously towards Derek, sneering. “Did you think, oh I don’t know, that you’d be _able to get into my bed easier as a fucking wolf?_ ”

“I couldn’t turn back!” Derek’s voice matches his own. “I was scared okay? We were attacked by Kate Argent a few days after we left the castle. And my family was in Devonford, that village that burned down and _it was my fault that she got in!_ I saw the blood and the bodies, heard the screams and the cries and _suddenly I was a wolf._ ”

Derek now is right in Stiles’ face. Their heavy breaths fill the gaps between words.

“When I’m a wolf, it’s not the same as being human.”

“Well no shit.”

“Everything is simpler, worn down to the most basic instincts and primal feelings. All I knew was that I wasn’t safe, and when you took me in, that I was. I don’t know why I chose now to turn back- it wasn’t a conscious decision. My only guess is that I felt safe and protected enough to return.”

Derek finishes softly, staring at Stiles, who snaps backwards.

“Well I don’t know why you felt that because you _are not welcome here._ Get out!” He glares angrily at Derek. “Get out!”

Derek’s face falls, betrayed, but only for a moment before he schools it back into a neutral expression. He clambers off the bed, blanket still wrapped around his waist. At the door, he turns around and opens his mouth.

“I said get out!”

The door closes and Stiles is left sitting on his bed, cold and alone, silently freaking out about everything he had told Derek freaking Hale in the past week.  

~~~

Over the next week, Jackson and Danny return with news. The scouting party had indeed been ambushed by Kate Argent and a band of followers. Kate had escaped, but Gerard’s lead knight, Matt, had been captured, and the knights had been able to extract Gerard’s location. 

They had set off in search of Gerard, but requested the full force of the King’s army. Stiles obliged, sending Scott and most of his knights, leaving only a select few to protect the castle.

Two days later, they return, Scott dragging a bloodied Gerard.

Stiles rises from his throne, decked out in his full robes and crown, and stands before Gerard who is kneeling on the ground, Scott’s firm hand pushing him down.

“Gerard Argent. For the death of thousands at Devonford, countless others, and crimes against humanity, I hereby sentence you to death. You shall be hung at noon tomorrow. Your last meal will be served tonight.”

He turns and strides purposefully back to the throne, hearing scuffles as his knights drag Gerard from the room. Before turning to face his people once more, he takes a deep, steadying breath. He didn’t want to sentence someone to death this early. Didn’t want to do it ever. But it had to be done. The people would have it no other way, for a man with as many crimes as Gerard.

Exhaling, he sits back down. Looking up, his eyes catch on Derek, standing to the side of the room, watching Gerard be dragged out.

Derek shifts and turns his head, eyes meeting Stiles’.

His face appears expressionless, but Stiles can read his eyes, sees the relief written in there.

He nods once, and leaves.

~~~

Stiles finds Derek in the streets, helping an old lady with a sack of potatoes.

He watches the lady thank him profusely and say something that has him ducking his head, tips of his ears blushing red.

Once the lady is gone, Stiles makes his way over.

“Hi,” he says when Derek remains quiet.

“Your Majesty,” he murmurs, head bowing.

“It’s okay Derek, I think you know me well enough to skip the formalities.”

“But I don’t.” He looks confused. “Know you that is.”

Stiles smiles ruefully. “You know more than most people do. Anyways, I’m giving you the opportunity to get to know me better.”

Derek meets his eyes.

“I mean I already revealed my cards to you, and you pretty much admitted yours, so might as well play the play. Dinner, you and me, tonight.”

Derek looks slightly horrified. “In front of all the other Lords and Knights?” he asks, referencing the shared dining hall.

“Of course not. Your room. Make me something good. I am the King afterall.” He steps back with a smirk.

“See you tonight.”

“Yeah, tonight,” Derek echoes softly.

~~~

Weeks later, Scott finds them in a closet, mouths pressed against each other, limbs tangled together and clothes scattered around.

He looks scandalised for a moment, then yells at them to snap out of it because everyone is waiting for _their King_ in the Great Hall. “You’re lucky it was me who found you, and not one of the other knights, like Jackson.”

Stiles shudders at the thought.

And after that, when they’re once more curled together in Stiles’ bed, though this time Derek is himself, rather than a wolf, Stiles remembers something.

“So Der,” he begins mischievously.

Derek’s eyebrows furrow and he glances around worriedly, checking perhaps for escape routes.

“What was with the time you gave me a dead bird?”

Derek immediately blushes and he rolls away, dragging the covers with him.

“Were you trying to,” he sniggers, “court me?” He sniggers some more. “With weird animal gifts?”

Derek continues to ignore him, but the creeping blush down his neck tells Stiles he’s heard him.

He shrieks as the covers are pulled off him entirely. “Hey!” he cries, still laughing. “Give those back! I’m cold!”

Derek rolls onto his back and looks over at Stiles.

Stiles grins.

“But there are other ways to warm up, aren’t there.”

And with that, he flips himself onto Derek, leaning down and covering his lips with his own.

“Thank god for Sourwolf, eh?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
